


Six foot three of Army-toned muscle

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: Strike and Claire [1]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 15:16:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20978015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: Spring 2000.A piece about Strike and Claire (original character).





	Six foot three of Army-toned muscle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RobinLeStrange](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinLeStrange/gifts), [hobbeshalftail3469](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbeshalftail3469/gifts).

> By popular* demand, a piece about Strike and Claire. May turn into a series.
> 
> Anyone who has read my Octavia Street series will know who Claire is. She’s an original character, Ilsa’s lawyer friend and flatmate. They met after university when they were learning the ropes together at the same law firm. They shared a flat until Ilsa moved out to live with Nick. Claire pops up regularly as Ilsa’s work buddy, friend and confidante.
> 
> Somehow over the course of the Octavia Street series, Claire ended up sleeping with a young, fit squaddie Strike a lot (can’t imagine why) whenever he was on a break from Charlotte. This is mostly because I shy away from writing Charlotte. In Disco 2000 when I first wrote Claire, their relationship was the catalyst for Ilsa to end up hanging out with Nick a lot after having not seen him for six years.
> 
> This is basically a thinly-veiled (non-existent?) excuse to write smut about twenty-six-year-old Army-muscled Strike in his heyday, and include lots of delicious descriptions of what he’d have looked like. I’m anticipating it will have a small and specific audience (you know who you are). More pieces may well follow.
> 
> This first piece had a working title of Chapter 4a, which is where it would fit in Disco 2000. The first four chapters of that sets up them meeting and how they got to here.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> *one person

“I’ll get us some more drinks,” Nick said, and stood and made his way to the bar.

Claire grinned lazily at Strike, Bacardi fizzing warm in her stomach. “Finally got rid of them both, briefly.” She winked, her hand moving gently, deliberately, to his thigh.

He grinned back, his eyes dark and hooded, his thigh flexing under her hand. “Better make the most of it, then,” he murmured, and kissed her.

It had been inevitable that the evening would progress to this. Heat jumped sharply between them. Claire moaned a little and kissed him back, sliding her tongue into his mouth. With a growl he pressed closer, his arm along the back of the bench seat slipping down around her shoulders to pull her against him. Claire turned her body in to his, her hand sliding up his thigh, thrilling to the feel of his shudder as she crept higher.

They kissed and kissed, exploring with lips and tongues. Claire’s hand skimmed to Strike’s waist. His hand crept across to her leg. They were practically entwined now, and eventually Claire pulled back, giggling.

“I don’t think we can achieve much more in a public place.” She winked at him. Strike grinned a wicked grin, eyes dark, breathing unsteady.

“I bet we could,” he murmured, pressing his face to her neck, kissing her skin, laving his tongue across her, making her gasp. “But how about you come back to my place?” he murmured against her.

She chuckled and then moaned a little, pulling him closer, her hand fisting into his hair and drawing a growl from him. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He huffed a laugh into her neck and drew back, grinning. “I’ve been trying to be a gentleman.”

She snorted. “Fuck that.”

Strike gave her an outrageous wink. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Laughing, Claire looked round for her bag. “I’ll just let Ilsa know we’re going.”

Strike nodded. “Nick’ll look after her.” He slid along the seat after her as she stood.

“Hold on a sec.” He laid a hand on her arm. “Could you just stand there a moment while I, er, readjust a bit?”

Claire giggled down at him, shifting slightly to shield him from view. “Got a little problem there, soldier?”

He flashed her a heated look that made her whimper under her breath. “Not so much of the little, please,” he growled, rearranging himself so that he could stand. “It’s, er, been a while. Long campaign.”

“Then we need to do something about that.” With a confident toss of her head, Claire sashayed over to where Nick and Ilsa stood at the bar.

...

It was a bit of a walk back to Strike’s flat, and took longer than it strictly needed to due to several pauses in doorways for further explorations of each other’s mouths and necks. The third time they stopped, Claire, impatient and horny, bit down on his lower lip as he kissed her. With a fierce growl, Strike buried his face in her neck, his hands sliding down to her arse. He bodily picked her up and pressed her into the wall, and she whimpered, wrapping her legs around him and pulling at his hair again. She was by no means a lightweight, tall for a woman, and he’d lifted her as though she weighed nothing. Her hands slid down across his shoulders and upper arms, revelling in the ripple of muscle under his shirt.

“We seriously have to get back to your place,” she gasped, grinding her melting core against the significant erection she could feel straining at her through his trousers.

He growled again and lowered her back down. “We do,” he agreed. “Before we end up shagging in a side alley.”

She grinned at him. “Don’t think I wouldn’t,” she said with a cheeky wink.

“I bet you would,” he said straight back. “So would I. But what I have planned can’t all be done standing up.”

Claire shivered. “Let’s go, then.”

...

Strike had been going to at least offer her a cup of tea or a beer, but Claire dropped her bag and jacket as soon as his front door was closed and was back in his arms, her hands everywhere, her mouth seeking his, and he succumbed with a groan, kissing her fiercely again.

“Fucking hell, I can’t wait to see what that Army-toned body looks like,” she murmured against his lips, her fingers already pulling at his shirt buttons, kicking off her shoes.

Grinning, Strike helped her, stripping off his shirt. He knew he looked good. Six months of regular drills, only Army rations to eat and almost no opportunities to drink had rendered him in peak condition even for him. Claire hummed at the sight of him, running appreciative hands across his thickly haired, muscled chest and hard, toned stomach before sliding back to his upper arms.

“Fuck, how are your arms so sexy?” she demanded, her fingers biting into him, and he grinned.

“Six months in the desert, regularly decamping and moving base,” he replied. “I’ve been lifting and carrying and building over and over.”

“God, it shows,” she murmured. “Is the rest of you this fit?”

He laughed. “Yup. We covered miles and miles on foot. I shall be more than happy to prove to you just how fit I am,” and he laughed a little at the look on her face and kissed her again fiercely. He shifted a little and she realised he was kicking his shoes off too.

Claire groaned against his mouth, her tongue exploring, her hands pulling at his naked shoulders, and she whimpered as he picked her up again, her legs wrapping around his waist as he strode the few steps down the short hallway and shouldered a door open, still kissing her. Two more strides and he was dropping her onto an immaculately made bed, following her down to press her into the duvet with his hips, his mouth still on hers. He kissed and kissed her until she was writhing beneath him, then pulled back, his eyes dark, and began to undo her blouse.

Claire gazed up at him kneeling over her, shirtless, his shoulders broad, his trousers snug across his hips and over his backside, and shivered in anticipation. This was going to be a good night, she could already tell.

He growled a little at her as he pulled her blouse open and bent to kiss her collarbone. “What’s that smug look for?”

She chuckled and then gasped as he ran his mouth down between her breasts. “Just knowing this is going to be a good night.” Her voice slid into a groan as he mouthed fiercely at her breast through her bra.

“It is,” he murmured around her nipple. “But I should warn you, it’s been months for me. Months and months. So I hope you’re not expecting stamina the first time.” He paused in his ministrations to look up at her, his eyes black and fierce with arousal. “I’ll make up for it. Thoroughly.”

Panting, Claire wriggled her arms under herself to undo her bra and throw it aside. “It’s been a little while for me too, so that suits me fine,” she managed. “Now get on with it.”

With a groan, he buried his face in her chest, sucking at her breasts, caressing her skin and grazing across her nipples with fingers and teeth until she was rolling her hips beneath him, bucking against him.

“Fuck, Cormoran, get _on _with it,” she gasped, and he growled again.

“Happy to oblige.” He crawled back off her and stood to undo and strip off his trousers. Claire wriggled out of hers, pushing them and her knickers down off her legs and kicking them aside. She paused a moment to drink in the sight of him naked, his flat, toned stomach tapering down to lean hips and muscular thighs, and his cock standing out proudly, hard and engorged.

“Fuck...” she murmured, and he flashed her a wicked grin and crawled back onto the bed, lowering his head to her leg. He gripped her calf in his hand and kissed and gently bit his way up the inside of her thigh, brushed his mouth teasingly across her mound and worked his way down her other thigh. Panting and gasping, Claire ran her hands over whatever part of him she could reach, and then impatience took over and she clawed across his back and shoulders, sinking her nails into him.

With a fierce growl he bit her thigh, sucking at her hard, making her jump. Pleasure-pain rocked through her and her hips bucked.

“Shit, sorry,” he muttered, licking at the red mark he’d left, but she shook her head, shivering beneath him. “Don't be. Do it again,” she said hoarsely.

“Yeah?” his gaze was dark, looking up at her.

“Yeah.” She pulled at him.

He moved up her body, gently biting as he went, dragging his lips and teeth across her stomach, sucking at the swell of her breast. With a groan, Claire drew her nails across him again, and again he bit at her harder than he had intended, making her gasp and writhe.

“Fuck, Claire,” he muttered against her skin, his hips rocking against her, grinding his cock against her thigh, seeking relief. “I’m so fucking horny, I’m going to totally lose it if you keep doing that.”

“I know,” she murmured, and did it again, drawing a shudder and a fierce growl from him. She slid a hand down his muscled torso until she reached his groin, trailing her fingers along his cock, and he groaned and closed his eyes, his hips rocking into her hand. Gently she closed around him, and he whimpered and thrust at her. Pleasure swelled swiftly through him and he was forced to grab her hand and ease her away or risk losing control.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped, shuddering. “God, I want you.”

“Then fuck me.” Her eyes glittered up at him, and she rolled her hips, deliberately rubbing against his erection, making him moan and jerk against her. Fierce intent darkened his gaze, and Claire shuddered with arousal. She could feel him trembling with need against her.

Strike rolled away slightly, a long arm reaching to fumble in his bedside drawer. He pulled out a foil packet, tore it open and swiftly rolled the condom into position.

Claire grinned up at him as he turned back to her, reaching for her, pressing his body against hers. “Where do you want me?”

“Anywhere you like,” he growled, arching over her, burying his face in her neck again to mouth at her, teeth nipping. He was panting now, shuddering against her.

“Come here, then.” She pulled at him, and he rolled onto her, rocking his hips to hers, rubbing his cock against her core, moaning his desire into her neck.

“I apologise if this is fast,” he muttered, biting at her neck, his hips flexing, pressing his straining erection against her.

“I’ll keep up,” she promised, and sank her nails into his back again.

With a fierce grunt he thrust into her, hard, and Claire cried out in pleasure, arching her back up to him. It had been a long time since she’d slept with a guy this well endowed, and she wrapped her legs around him, her heel on his tight backside pulling him closer.

“Christ, you feel so good,” he groaned, withdrawing and thrusting again. Claire hummed in agreement. “So do you,” she gasped. Strike pushed himself up onto his arms and gazed down at her, his eyes black with pupils blown wide, his hips undulating against hers as he thrust, shaking with the effort of keeping a steady pace.

It didn’t take long for her to shatter his self-control. She pulled him down to kiss him fiercely, clawed her fingernails down the muscles of his back, drew him deeper with rolls of her hips and the pull of her heels, and he was lost. Groaning, he thrust hard, driving into her, and pleasure swept through her in waves.

“Fuck—” Strike knew he wasn’t going to last. It had been too long. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, his hips pistoning into her, enjoying her cries of pleasure as she met his every thrust. He closed his eyes, trying to force himself to hold back, but to his relief she was just as needy as he was, and he was able to drive her over the edge into spasms of delight before the pleasure engulfed him and he came with a low, hoarse cry, splintering apart, pulsing into her.

“Fuck,” he gasped, collapsing onto the bed half next to her and half on top of her. “Sorry,” he added, rolling to free her, still shuddering with pleasurable aftershocks.

Claire grinned, humming with satisfaction. “No, I like it,” she murmured, pulling him back to her, panting. Strike grinned too. He removed and tied the condom, then rolled back and threw a lazy arm over her, panting against her shoulder.

“God, that was good,” he murmured.

“Yeah,” Claire agreed, still breathing hard.

They lay in peace for a few minutes, breathing and heart rates settling.

Breath caught, Claire grinned across at him. “Did I scratch you too hard?”

He laughed, a low chuckle. “No. Did I bite you too hard?”

“No. I liked it.”

“Me too.”

“I could tell.”

A few more quiet, sated minutes passed. Claire shifted a little, relaxed, comfortable. “You asleep?”

“No.”

“Good. You want to go again?”

“Definitely.” He laughed and rolled onto her and kissed her, slow and languorous, his lips capturing hers, drawing away and then kissing again. Then he pulled back. “Would you like a drink or anything? Cup of tea, or I’ve got beer?”

She considered. “A beer sounds good.”

“Thank God for that, I’m dying for a cigarette.”

Claire laughed. “You should have said. Or just wandered off to have one.”

He shrugged. “Seemed a bit rude.”

She grinned at him again and wriggled free to sit up. “Won’t worry me.”

Strike rolled off the bed and stood. “Beer break, then?”

She nodded, running her eyes over him, six foot three of toned muscle and soft dark hair. “Fuck, you’re sexy.”

He grinned. “Thank you. So are you. We’re not finished yet, I hope?”

“Not by miles. Now get me that beer.”

Laughing, he padded away, naked. Claire paused briefly to admire the back view of him, all broad shoulders and sculpted backside, and scrambled up.

“Which way is the loo?” she called after him.

“Turn left,” he called back. She could hear him rummaging in the fridge.

Claire snatched up Strike’s shirt from the hall floor on her way back from the bathroom, pulling it on as she turned in to the little living/dining room. Strike was sat at a small table near the window, still naked, an ashtray and two beers in front of him, cigarette lit. He slid a bottle towards her as she approached, and quirked an eyebrow at her in his shirt. “Suits you.”

She laughed and took a swig of her beer. “Couldn’t be bothered to completely re-dress, just wanted a little coverage.” She waved her arm at the window which Strike had opened a few inches to let the smoke out.

He shrugged. “Office block opposite, should be deserted,” he said. “Sorry, you don’t mind me...?” He made a vague gesture at himself. “You spend a heck of a lot of time in dorms and shower blocks naked in front of other people, in the Army. You kind of stop noticing after a while. But I could have put some boxers on.”

Claire grinned. “Doesn’t bother me at all.” Then she chuckled. “If I looked like that naked, I wouldn’t bother much with clothes.”

He laughed a little and dropped his gaze, a cute blush stealing across his cheeks, and Claire grinned again. No wonder Ilsa was so fond of this man.

She plonked herself down on the other chair and took another swig of beer. “So...?”

He grinned at her. “So. Let me finish this—” he gestured with his cigarette “—and probably brush my teeth, and then maybe we could get around to some of the other things I had planned.”

She grinned. “Like what?”

He flashed her the sexy, confident grin that made her stomach swoop. “Well, if it’s your thing, I’d love to go down on you.”

Claire smiled lazily. “I think I could cope with that. What else?”

He drew on his cigarette again and idly flicked ash into the ashtray. “Well, maybe you might like to take charge after that.” He winked at her.

Claire shivered, imagining having this huge man at her mercy. “I think I could cope with that, too.”

Strike laughed and stubbed his cigarette out. “I’m heading to the bathroom,” he said, standing and picking up his beer. “See you back in the bedroom?”

Claire nodded, and watched him go.

When she wandered back into his bedroom a few minutes later, Strike was sprawled across the bed on his stomach, flicking through his phone messages. Claire paused in the doorway to admire the view. He was tanned from his six months abroad, skin dark, muscles clearly defined across his shoulders and back. She grinned, stepped forward and ran a hand across his firm backside, and he chuckled and tossed his phone aside, rolling to capture her wrist and pull her down onto the bed with him. He was half aroused again already, and pulled her hips to his so he could rock against her.

“Ready for round two?”

“Definitely,” she replied, and began to kiss him again.

...

Late the next morning, Claire woke and lay, tired and deliciously sore, gazing at the ceiling. Strike snored next to her, stretched out on his stomach, deeply relaxed, all lean lines and languid limbs.

She grinned to herself, remembering a fantastic night. He’d made good on all his promises, coaxing pleasure from her with fingers and tongue, pulling her over him to take control and ride him, then later in round three driving her over the edge again with the swivel of his hips, building her excruciatingly slowly, all strength and stamina. She was spent and exhausted, a deep, satisfied ache in her groin.

She glanced across at him, his face relaxed in sleep, battered features and the dark shadow of stubble. He wasn’t handsome, exactly, but there was something compelling about him.

She rolled away quietly and found her clothes, pulling them on, padding barefoot down the hall to find shoes, jacket, bag. She dragged her fingers through her hair and wandered back to the bedroom, wondering if she should leave some kind of note or just text him later.

She stood and looked at him, and a grin crept across his face and he opened his eyes. “Want me to keep pretending to be asleep, or come and see you off?” he asked, and she laughed.

He rolled over and stretched lazily, and Claire chuckled and went back to put her shoes and coat on. Strike emerged from his bedroom in boxers and a T-shirt, and slid his arms around her from behind as she shrugged her jacket on.

“You busy later?” he murmured into her neck, kissing her skin.

Claire wriggled around in his arms. “I could be persuaded to be free.”

He drew back a little and grinned down at her, his eyes searching hers.

“I can’t offer you a lot,” he said. “I’ll be off to Portsmouth soon and then deployed again after that. But I’d like to keep seeing you while I’m here.”

She nodded. “Suits me perfectly. I’m not looking for a serious relationship.”

He nodded. “Same page, then? Keep it casual? But—” he hesitated. “You know. I haven’t got queues of girls.”

She chuckled. “No, I haven’t got queues of guys,” she said. “I’m happy to just see you.” She winked. “Not sure I’d have the energy for anyone else, if last night is anything to go by.”

He laughed and kissed her. “Last night was—” He trailed off. “Let’s just say I needed that.”

Claire laughed too. “Glad to be of service,” she said. “Right, I’m off to shower, eat and sleep, not necessarily in that order. Text me later?”

He nodded, letting her go, and she let herself out of the flat and headed home.

Grinning, stretching, Strike strolled through to his kitchen to put the kettle on. Coffee, cigarette, toast. The warm glow of satiation rolled through him and he gave a satisfied sigh as he lit his first cigarette of the day while he waited for the kettle to boil.


End file.
